Haunting Molly
by AlessNox
Summary: Despite being dead, Molly fears that maybe her old boyfriend "Jim" Moriarty isn't done with her yet. A 221B Drabble mystery series made for Halloween 2012. Audiofic available (soundcloud. com / aless-nox) *
1. Chapter 1

Molly walked into her empty apartment.

John had been heartbroken at the funeral. It had taken all of her resolve to shake his hand and go without telling him that Sherlock was alive. She closed the door and put her keys into the bowl.

The apartment was silent. Molly was used to silence, but this silence was altogether eerie. Maybe it was being around all those graves. Bodies were one thing, Molly had no problem with bodies, but graves were spooky.

She listened for the skitter of little kitten feet, but heard nothing. "Toby?" she cried, but there was no reply. No purring, no sound of her lamp shaking as he rubbed up against the side table. Molly searched the kitchen and the bathroom finding nothing. Then she tried the bedroom.

The door creaked as she entered. The light from the window made everything seem grey-blue.  
She saw a man's shadow on the wall. "Sherlock!" she called, but the shadow was gone. Lying on top of her blanket, there was a single black rose. Next to it was a white card. She opened it to see a single letter: M.

Molly's cheeks flushed hot, but her blood ran cold. "Jim?...but Jim is dead!" she said.  
Then a noise startled her, but it was only Toby. He had been under the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Sitting at work the next day, the black rose in a vase on her desk, Molly felt lonely. Before there was always the chance that Sherlock might pop in and ask her for something. Sherlock was one of the few people that Molly knew who could get excited about dead bodies. Most people treated Molly as a sort of pariah and never visited her except in extreme need.

Molly bent over to look at the rose. Although it had seemed completely black in her apartment, in the bright lights of the morgue, she could see that the base was deep purple. It reminded her of Sherlock when he wore his purple shirt. "_Oh, how I miss him!" _Molly thought. She had asked him when he would come back, but he only shook his head. He didn't know. In her heart she feared that he might never return.

Molly leaned over to smell the flower. She pulled it toward her with her fingers and cried out. She had cut herself on a thorn. She looked at the streak of red on her right index finger and then placed it into her mouth to suck.

_"Flowers from a dead man,"_ she thought, _"Why not? Let's face it. the dead are all I have and no one will ever love me back."  
_


	3. Chapter 3

James Moriarty's remains still resided in the morgue storage. Strangely enough no one had come to claim the body. If left unclaimed after another week it would be cremated. Molly pulled out the tray and looked at the cold, cold, body. Laid out as it was, she could hardly see the pieces of his shattered cranium. His eyes were open, but he seemed strangely at rest, looking neither like her old boyfriend "Jim" nor "James Moriarty" the TV celebrity and master criminal. He certainly had not climbed into her window last night. But if not Jim, then who?

Jim had pretended to want her in order to meet Sherlock. He had lied to her, but Molly had to face the fact that she had also lied to him. The major reason that she had accepted his awkward offer to become his girlfriend was so that she could flaunt it in front of Sherlock. She wanted to get a rise from him. She wanted to make him jealous. Pitiful.

What fools they were. Both of them vying for the affection of the one man who would never want either of them. I suppose they were a bit like cats. Always gravitating toward the person who was trying most to ignore them. Molly shrugged and pushed the tray closed sealing away Moriarty's body.


	4. Chapter 4

That evening things were back to normal. Toby greeted her as she came in rubbing against her legs and meowing. She knelt down scratching him behind his ears before setting out some catfood. She plugged in the kettle for cocoa and pulled a banana yogurt from the refrigerator before glancing through her father's collection to find one of her favorite radio dramas.

She loved to listen to detective dramas. Before he died, she and her dad would sit together listening to them into the wee hours. Tonight she sat alone in her favorite chair knitting. She had found a new pattern online, a blue scarf set with tiny silver skulls. She wasn't sure yet who it was for.

After the story was over and her mug was washed and put away, she slipped into her nightgown and went to bed falling into a fitful sleep. She dreamt that she stood on a mountain, the wind whipping through her hair like something from _Wuthering Heights_. The ghost of Jim came to her. So pale that she could see through him. He touched her cheek, and she could feel his thumb gently brush against her lips. He stroked her throat and called her name,"Molly."

Opening her eyes to a room filled with moonlight, she found on her pillow a rose long and black.


	5. Chapter 5

Molly sat up in her bed. Her hair flowing down her back, the black rose in her hand. Moonlight made her pale robe seem to glow. "Jim?" she whispered, "James ... are you there?"

Molly listened to the silence in the room. It was too quiet, not the quiet of an empty place, but the quiet of a held breath. Putting on her slippers, Molly walked toward the window. It was open a crack and the cool wind poured in like mist. She closed it and the drapes throwing the room into darkness.

Then, she heard an indrawn breath and turned. Her eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness, but she thought that she saw a shadow in the hallway behind the open door. She peered toward it. "Who is it?" she asked. Just then an ambulance passed outside. Red flashing light leaked in around the edges of her draperies. Molly turned to listen as it passed. When she turned back, the shadow was gone.

She rushed forward turning on the light to emptiness. Then she walked out into the living room and placed her hand on the front door to check it. It was locked. A scratching sound caught her attention and she looked up to see, against the wooden door frame, the golden chain swinging loose forward and back.


	6. Chapter 6

In a coffee shop between her flat and Barts, Molly gazed out of the window glass her hair falling past her shoulders. She had finally fallen asleep as the dawn light began to shine. Only to wake, in the afternoon more tired than if she had not slept at all. She wanted to be around people, so she had come here, but she couldn't be bothered to tie up her hair or put on lipgloss.

The roses were real so it was likely that someone real had brought them. The M on the card suggested Moriarty. Did he fake his death? Irene Adler had. No! Molly knew for certain that Jim was dead. She remembered details about his hair and skin. Things that couldn't be faked, and she had done the tests herself.

Molly had the worst luck with men. She went from pining after a confirmed asexual to dating a criminal mastermind. Sherlock had teased her about the crimes that Moriarty had committed after she dumped him, as if her rejection had hurt him, but Jim had never really cared, had he?

Could it be that there was someone interested enough in Molly to sneak into her apartment and leave a rose? A ghost made more sense. Molly downed her tea and rose. It was time that she went back.


	7. Chapter 7

Molly came home, arms full of groceries, and Toby greeted her at the door. She fixed herself some dinner and gave Toby a can of tuna flavored catfood. After a bath and a cup of chamomile tea, Molly locked the door using the chain this time. She taped one of Toby's white whiskers across the door in true detective novel fashion. If anyone came in, then she would know. After placing a bar in the window, she went to bed forcing Toby to stay with her by using a combination of his favorite cat toy and petting.

Her dream this time was erotic. James Moriarty came to her. He wore a fine suit and expensive perfume. "No one dumps me, even in jest," he said grabbing her by the waist and squeezing all of the breath out of her before kissing her deeply. "I own you," he said, "I always have and I always will." Then he smiled a devil smile that frightened her so much that she screamed herself awake.

There was a rose in the bed. She climbed up and checked the bar on the window, then she checked the front door. It was locked, the chain was still in place, but the hair that she had taped there had been replaced with another, only this one was brown.


	8. Chapter 8

Sitting in the park at midday, Molly was filled with unease. Not even the bright sunlight peeking through the silver rimmed clouds was enough to clear her thoughts. She had left before dawn for the lab to identify the hair that she had found taped to her door. She measured its width and noticed its color until she thought that she knew for sure whose hair it was. It wasn't Moriarty's or Sherlock's, it was her own.

"Could I have put it there?" She wondered, "could I have been sleepwalking?" Then she chuckled, "Sleepwalking into a flower shop and buying myself roses? Can't be." She sighed.

As she looked across the lawn at the green, green grass, the sun soaked her scarf with warmth. She slumped in her seat closing her eyes as she listened to the sound of children laughing and playing.

A moment latter she was startled awake. "My purse!" she thought. She sighed as she noticed it on the seat beside her. Clasping it in her hands, she stood only then noticing something flutter to the ground. She bent down and picked up a white card embossed with a black M. It read "Remember, I own you."

She opened her mouth and looked quickly around her. Then she glanced down and noticed the black rose on the bench.


	9. Chapter 9

Back in the lab, Molly picked up her phone and dialed. "Greg," she said, "This is Molly, Molly Hooper, do you think we could talk?"

"What's this about?" Lestrade asked, "I've got a pretty full plate here with all that's been going on since Sherlock..."

"I know," she said, "but...I've got a problem, and I need to tell someone. Can we meet after work?"

"Sure," Lestrade said, "That bar where we celebrated Sherlock's birthday last year. Do you remember?"

Molly blushed glad that he couldn't see her through the phone. "I remember," she said, "when?"

"How about sevenish. I'm having a bit of a late day at work."

"Fine, I'll be there. Thank you Greg," Molly said letting a glimpse of a smile cross her lips as she put down the phone.

Molly put on her coat and scarf grabbing the roses and the cards which she had sealed in a plastic bag. It was early yet, so she dropped by home to get the other rose, taking a few moments to feed Toby and glance around the flat for any more signs of the intruder. There were none. At a quarter to six she rushed out and down the stairs toward the bar. She walked rapidly and with purpose never noticing the steady sound of patent leather shoes following behind.


	10. Chapter 10

Molly was early. She took a seat at a table not far from the bar. Looking up at the stage Molly remembered the last time that she had been here. It was Sherlock's birthday and John had suggested that they all go out to celebrate. Sherlock was nonplused saying that he was not in the habit of celebrating the anniversary of an event which he had no part in deciding.

"Nonsense," John had said, "everyone knows that the baby decides when to be born not the mother, besides it's traditional."

"This is getting needlessly biological," Sherlock said, "and since when are you such a stickler for tradition?"

"Ever since my flatmate tells me that he's never had a proper birthday party," John said smiling. Sherlock had frowned, but she could tell that he was pleased.

There was cake and Sherlock loved her present, a dissection kit, but after a few too many drinks, someone had suggested karaoke. What had possessed Molly to think that she could sing _"I don't know how to love him"_? Just the memory of it made her stomach queasy.

Molly looked at the clock. It was fifteen til seven, there was still time. She left the plastic bag on the table, and shouldering her purse went down the hall, but she never made it to the bathroom.


	11. Chapter 11

Molly's eyes fluttered half-open to look on darkness. She was in a room that was not her own. She tried to move, but her limbs felt like lead. She thought, "I must be dreaming." Then she felt a light touch between her breasts. It traced a line up her neck and chin to circle on her lips. She started to speak, but the finger pressed down and someone hissed, "Shhh!"

Molly sucked in a breath and opened her eyes fully. It was too dark to see clearly, but she spied the sharp shoulders of a tailored suit and the silhouette of man's slicked back hair.

The man lifted his hand and began to stroke her head.

"Jim?" Molly said, "Is that you?"

"Shhh ... rest," he whispered touching the inside of his ring to her neck. She felt a sharp pinprick, and then everything began to go numb. He leaned over to kiss her forehead. She tried to cry out, but all that came from her lips was a moan. He covered her lips with his, the rough hair of his chin rubbing against her cheek, as she lay helpless.

"You were going to meet another man," the voice said, "but you had no right. Didn't I tell you, '_I own you_'."

He closed her eyelids and the world went black.


	12. Chapter 12

The slide of smooth silk was Molly's first sensation as she woke. She slid her hand across sheets of the palest creme. There was a nasty taste in her mouth. The bed was lined with tapestries. She pushed them aside and stood. The tapestry was a copy of the Bayeux tapestry. At least she thought it was a copy, every stitch was real. She stared at old King Harold, then glanced around the place.

Molly found herself in a room that was a bedroom, an office, a library, an entire life. She walked around it touching the walls with her fingers. On one wall was a framed picture of the Blarney stone. Next to it, a framed picture of a gun. There was a record player over a collection of vinyl disks by ABBA and the Beegees. The last one was signed, _to James our biggest fan_.

The desk was dark red. Made of the deepest rosewood. Molly searched the drawers, but they were empty.

The other side of the room held a bookcase. Molly read the spines. **The art of making money** by P. T. Barnum, **A brief history of time** by Steven Hawking, **Astrophysical quantities**, **The Prince** by Machiavelli.

She peered through a door crack to see a bathroom. Then froze as a click behind her chilled her blood.


	13. Chapter 13

Shoes of gray leather matching a suit so sleek. She had seen this before on the television screen, but the face was different. The body thinner. The hair was blond. It wasn't Jim. Until this moment Molly hadn't known that she had wanted it to be him. Until this moment, she hadn't realized that she had liked him, that she had missed him, criminal mastermind or no. What did it mean to have liked James Moriarty? Was it any worse than loving a sociopath?

"Who are you?" Molly asked of the man who slowly closed and locked the door behind him.

He gave a shallow smile. She had seen that smile before on another's face. "I knew that you wouldn't be afraid," he said, "not you."

"Why am I here? How do you know me?" She asked resisting the urge to back away from him as he approached. She tried not to shiver as he walked up to her standing one half step too close. He reached out a hand to her cheek, but she flinched away from him. He returned it to his side.

"I suppose that introductions are in order," he said, "the boss always said that introductions should be handled with care. My name is Michael Shay but master Moriarty used to call me his little Weasel Bean."


	14. Chapter 14

Molly assessed her situation. The man was obviously mad. He had kidnapped her for...she didn't know why exactly, but he was talking, and that was good. Molly smiled and the man breathed in suddenly as if he had never expected such a thing. Then she began to walk toward the desk that she knew now had been Moriarty's. "Weasel Bean. That's a curious name," she said, "Why did he call you that?"

The man followed her a step behind as if following was his natural state. "They always called me Weasel, but the master called me Bean after a character in one of his favorite books. He said that I was small like him."

"Oh really?" Molly said sitting behind Moriarty's desk. Shay stood looking aside nervously as if it wasn't his habit to sit when someone was in that chair. But then he straightened like a blade and lowered himself into the chair. "So Michael how did you get into my flat? I locked the door."

He smiled, "through the bathroom window."

"But it's tiny!"

"They call me weasel for a reason," he said, "I was master's favorite. That's why he gave me all of this: his clothes, this flat, and you."

Molly froze only too aware of how his eyes traveled back and forth from her to the bed.


	15. Chapter 15

Trapped with a madman in a locked room, Molly's first thought should have been escape, but she was curious. "What did he say about me?" she asked the man who rubbed his lip unconsciously as he stared at her, his head slightly bowed.

"Master spoke of you often," Weasel Bean replied, "he said that reading the lovelorn verses on your website never failed to make him laugh."

Molly frowned, "he laughed at me?"

"Don't be mad. The master didn't laugh often. Very few people were able to make him smile. He was smiling on the day he left. He said to me, _'What will poor Molly think of my solution little Weasel Bean? She'll be distraught.'_ Then he laughed."

Molly's stomach turned flips as she thought of what Moriarty really felt about her. "And what do you think?" Molly said, "I guess you think that my life is funny too."

"Oh no," he said concern on his face, "I think you are wonderful. It's a joy to find someone who likes bodies as much as I do. That was my job for the master you see, my speciality, cutting, peeling, skinning them. Seeing how long I could go before they fainted. Master said that I was an artist, and I thought... Isn't it true? At your job, don't you cut bodies?"


	16. Chapter 16

It was at this time that thoughts of escape became frontmost in Molly's mind. It was one thing to be proud of one's work, but Molly was afraid that she might be getting a much closer look at that work than she wanted to.

Sometimes Molly forgot what it really meant to know people like Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty. It meant the chance of meeting dangerous and unusual people like Mycroft or Weasel Bean. In her mind, Molly had tried to make them into mates or boyfriends, but Molly was never attracted to anyone who could be labeled so simply.

Weasel Bean repulsed her. She didn't like the way he raised his lip in imitation of Moriarty's smile. She didn't like the way he nodded his head, or the strange relish with which he said the word, _'skinning'_. She didn't like the thought of being owned, or raped, or kidnapped for that matter, and if there was a way to stop it, then she was going to take that chance.

"Nice flat you have here," she said, "Is there more of it? another bedroom perhaps?" _bad idea to mention that_, "or a kitchen...?"_An even worse idea. She needed to keep this man far away from knives._

"Sure." Weasel Bean said smiling, "let me show you my workshop."_ Bad. Very Bad._


	17. Chapter 17

He walked to the door and unlocked it. Molly walked behind him, but he turned and wrapped his arm around her back, his hand firmly gripping her shoulder as he steered her through the door closing it behind him. They walked down the empty hallway together.

Molly kept alert looking for doors, windows, fire exits, or even fire extinguishers, but there was nothing in the hall but grey walls and a red carpet. They passed through a door at the end of the hall and Molly looked back to see that on this side it was black. Black as night. Black as doom.

The place where she stood now looked ordinary and industrial. It was off-white with a dirty green rug reminding her of a low level office block or a cheap technical college. The hallway went down a bit and turned around the corner. Molly looked over her shoulder as he led her the other way toward the entrance to a stairwell. They passed a door and went down. Somehow she had known that it wouldn't be up.

Their footsteps echoed in the empty chamber until they reached the bottom. They exited and turned right. He reached out and opened the door. Molly looked in shock at the large metal table.

"This is my workshop." he said, "Isn't it beautiful?"


	18. Chapter 18

He released Molly's shoulder and she walked away looking in horror at the torture chamber that he called a workshop. On the wall was an elaborate drawing of a dragon on a fabric that she very much hoped was leather over a row of tool drawers like those in a mechanics workshop. An ornate red velvet loveseat sheathed with heavy plastic sat on a small stage.

In the corner was a desk not unlike her own at work with some pencils and a computer and a wall covered with anatomy drawings. She had seen that very poster in a magazine: _Muscles of the human body_. She remembered looking at the intricate drawings of the _deltoid_ and the l_atissimus dorsii_. Suddenly the fleshless images seemed much more real. She felt nauseous.

He opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out some medicine bottles. Then he took off his ring. "Look at this," he said "There's a tiny syringe in here. Turn the needle inside, and it's undetectable. Just a prick to the jugular, and you have them. But I need to change it now. This one just makes you sleep. I need something different if I'm going to show you how I work."

"Show me?" Molly asked.

"Don't worry my beloved. Just a taste for now. I won't draw much blood."


	19. Chapter 19

Molly stood perfectly still. She wasn't sure what he meant by_ 'just a taste'_, but she was positive that it would not be to her liking. She watched as he filled his ring, then she bolted for the door passing through it before she was fully conscious that she had moved. She pushed open the door to the stairwell and rushed up the stairs. Behind her she heard the sound of the lab door banging open.

Molly took the steps two at a time panting with the exertion as she heard the sound of the lower door opening.

"Molly!" he yelled, "Come back!" His footsteps pounding from below as she pulled open the door and entered the hallway. She stopped and looked around before rushing down the hall past the black door and onward. She glanced over her shoulder and he was behind her. His long strides bringing him closer and closer. She turned away willing herself to go faster.

_"If only I can get around that corner, maybe I can get away,"_, she thought, but before she could, she felt his weight on her back as he grabbed her. They both fell to the carpet. She twisted in his grip staring wide-eyed as he pinned her hands with his wiry arms pressing his hips against hers and holding her below.


	20. Chapter 20

Weasel Bean glared at her, his teeth bared. "I thought that you were different," he said, "that you would appreciate me. Understand my genius...but no matter. You are mine. The master gave you to me and I can do whatever I want with you.

"You didn't stay to listen to what I put in my ring." he said, "It's hard to skin someone when they are moving. It's easier if they are sleeping, but master liked to hear them scream. He said, 'They have to feel it, or what's the point of this?'

"I finally found something that would keep them paralyzed but not dull the senses, but I haven't had a chance to use it yet, and you have ...such beautiful skin."

Molly didn't think of herself as particularly clever, especially since she spent so much time around Sherlock, but there was nothing like sheer bloodcurdling terror to bring clarity to the mind.

"Oh yes! Michael," she said smiling.

He pulled back away from her in surprise as he had before and she reached out and placed her left hand over his. She wrapped her right hand behind his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Weasel Bean leaned into it closing his eyes which snapped open again as he felt the prick of his own needle against his breast.


	21. Chapter 21

He sat back in horror staring at his hand as Molly crawled backward away from him. She climbed onto her hands and knees pushing to her feet as he reached for her. Her foot escaped his grasp, but his needle swiped across the back of her leg scratching it.

Molly kept moving forward even as she felt the medicine taking effect, running down the hall and around the corner until she felt her knees give way. She fell to the ground, looking toward the end of the hall. There was a lift. A way out, if only she could crawl into it. He would be slowed down too wouldn't he? Unless the needle hadn't pierced his suit.

She pulled herself slowly across the carpet, her hip dragging on the ground. If the needle had been caught in his jacket, it might not have pierced his skin, then he would be able to move. Any minute now he could come around that corner. Any minute now he would grab her and lay her on that metal table. Then he would lovingly caress her skin with his sharp knives.

She fought to stay mobile, grabbing at the floor with her fingernails as the paralysis worked it's way upward. She reached out, but her hand slid down the wall unable to reach the button.


	22. Chapter 22

Molly lay there for what seemed like hours. Her eyes were drying out, but she couldn't blink them. How long would the paralysis last, and who would be released first? If it was him, what would he do to her? How would he retaliate for her betrayal? Tears filled her eyes making them feel better even as she felt worse.

Then the lift doors opened and Detective Inspector Lestade came out flanked by two armed officers. He bent down to feel her pulse waving the others ahead. A minute later they called back to him, and he walked around the corner leaving her alone.

Did he think that she was dead? She tried to call out to him, but couldn't. When he returned, he bent down and picked her up as the door opened revealing another group of officers.

"Get an ambulance here NOW!" he told them, and someone pulled out a phone as Lestrade entered the lift and pushed the up button fulfilling Molly's dearest dream of the last hour.

Cold air hit her skin raising goosebumps as she was carried out into the night, She stared up at the stars few and dim beside the city lights, finally fainting from sheer relief and waking sometime later to find herself riding in an ambulance covered by a red emergency blanket.


	23. Chapter 23

Molly was released after a short hospital stay. Lestrade suggested that she take a few days off of work, but a bus accident meant that she was needed so she went in.

Lestrade had come to the bar minutes after she had been abducted and found the bag of evidence that she had left behind. He had raised the alert immediately. Michael Shay was known by another name than Weasel Bean. He was also the Black Rose Killer. A psychopath who skinned his victims alive and then left them with a black rose in their teeth. Lestrade worked on the case two years ago before he had suddenly vanished. That must have been when Moriarty found him. He was the kind of person to sponsor psychos.

Michael was dead. The poison had paralyzed his lungs suffocating him. Molly felt a pang of pity. He must have been struggling to breathe even as she struggled to reach the lift button. Neither of them had succeeded then.

After the last of the bodies were put away, Molly sat at her desk. The cold walls of the morgue felt comforting and familiar. "Why is it that I'm only attractive to psychopaths?" Molly lamented, "I suppose I should get used to being alone, because this is the only place where I feel that I belong."


	24. Chapter 24

I have made an audio version of this story.

You can find in **_mp3_** format here.

**soundcloud aless-nox / haunting-molly**

(Just remove the spaces)

I'd love to hear your comments.


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